Better Things Yet to Come
by i never did tell you
Summary: I, Winifred McCoy, promised myself a long time ago I'd NEVER come to one of these things. Thanks to my brother, I've been attending support group for the past two weeks. Let's just say it's Hell inside a small room at the community college. But I guess I should thank Henry, because that's the place I met Dean. (DeanXofc) Rating may change later.
1. Chapter 1

I fucking _love _support group (please note my sarcasm).

They serve free doughnuts and coffee (both of which are stale and bitter), the chairs are new (and hard as rock), and the councillor is _so _nice (when she gets what she wants).

The councillor - I a few days ago christened the Cow - likes to talk a lot, and tells us how we've gotta be strong and that we're in her prayers.

Personally, I think she's lying.

Today, she says, a new tortured soul is joining our lovely council of fuck-ups and dead-beats. Goody - yet another person I need to pretend I care about as I 'listen' to them bitch about their problems.

I don't do that - why would I want to tell people why I'm here? They already think I'm fucked up enough as it is, since I sit there and glare at everyone for 5 hours a week. I wonder if they realized I'm not the fuck-up, yet?

While the Cow prattles on about being respectful and kind to the newcomer (her watery blue eyes on me the entire time), the door opens.

"Oh, hello, Miss Katie!" says Cow. _Sigh. _Fuckin' hate 'Miss Katie'.

The pretentious, plastic bitch looks about for an open seat. There's one next to me, and one next to some dude who looks and smells like he hasn't showered in years (because he hasn't). With a look of distaste on her makeup smeared face, she sits next to Stink. I hold back a snort.

I really must have scared poor, defenseless 'Miss Katie' last week when I snapped at her. It was her own fault, though - she gave me _the _look. The '_Why are you even here if you're not going to talk?' _look.

I talked then, alright.

Well, actually, I kind of hissed at her, and Cow walked in to find _poor _'Miss Katie' with a fearful look on her face trembling in her hundred-inch stilettos. So, of course, I was antagonized.

Nobody in the group likes the bitch, though, and I got a few pats on the back from various members, so it was worth it.

Dude, I don't even know why she's _here - _I can never listen to her squeaky voice for more than twenty-seven seconds. Something about her being a shopaholic who spent all her money on purses and scarves, and now lives in her mum's basement and wastes her mother's retirement fund on online shopping.

I told y'all she was a bitch, but she's not really fucked-up like the rest of us. Stink, over there, has a fear of water - he can't do shit (can't fucking _shower_), and he almost died of dehydration. Andrea, a few seats to my right, was a heroin addict, and she came here to help herself get clean (for some odd reason). She had a few relapses, but she's been OK this week. And then there's Robin - poor kid. His dad, on a drunken stupor, tried to rape him. Robin's only seventeen.

So, as 'MIss Katie' glares at me from across the room, I send her my well-practiced, most spiteful sneer and decide to re-tie my Doc's, careful not to let my jacket sleeves reveal anything higher than the palm of my hand.

The door opens behind me again as I tighten my laces, and I hear the heavy clunking of boots, not too different from mine the first time I walked in here. They clearly want to be here as much as I do.

"Oh, Mr Winchester! I'm _so glad _you could make it!" exclaims the Old Cow, clasping her pudgy hands together and smiling so sweetly it makes my teeth ache.

"That makes one of us," replies the new guy, Winchester. The level of 'I don't want to be here' in his voice is so high even a deaf man could hear it.

I snort, though quietly. He might not be so bad.

Ignoring his sassy reply, Cow tells him to sit.

The only empty chair is next to me.

_Greaaat._

The chair scrapes back, letting newbie into the 'sharing circle'. I wonder what's brought him to the council of Fuck-Ups and Deadbeats? I don't look at him.

I feel his eyes on me, though, as he says, "Hey."

I nod in response, keeping my eyes to the floor, jaw clenched. Maybe, if I don't talk, he won't talk to me.

He nudges me lightly with his shoulder. "I'm Dean," he continues. "What's up?"

I turn my head, looking at him finally. My jaw nearly drops: green eyes, not quite as dark as mine, rimmed by thick, dark eyelashes. Chiseled jaw, handsome features. Freckles. He doesn't look too much older than I am, but the dark circles under his eyes, and some of the lines around them, might tip him more into his thirties.

Before it gets creepy, I look away. "Well, Dean," I begin, "I don't want to be here."

"Then go."

"I can't," I reply, turning to face him again. He doesn't ask me why - I think he gets it. He just smiles a charming smile.

He asks my name, and before I can respond, Cow cuts in. "So, Mr Winchester -"

"My name's Dean, thanks," he interrupts.

"Well, _Dean_," she continues, looking a little less patient, "how did you find our little Sharing Circle?"

"_I _didn't - this is all my brother's doing. If I had the choice, I'd be at the bar right now."

I snort. "Same, dude."

He gives me another grin, while the Cow looks more and more peeved.

"Care to share with us what's troubling you? We're here to help, after all," she says, looking at me pointedly for the latter bit. That bitch…

"Well, for starters, I was relieved of duty three months ago. I was in Afghanistan for seven-and-a-half months."

'Miss Katie' takes the opportunity to step in. "Thank you for your service to our country," she says, her voice sugar coated and high-pitched. The way she looks at him pisses me off - it's like she's stripping him with her eyes. Ugh.

He shakes his head. "I killed a man. He shot my partner, I shot him." Dean looks slightly anguished. "I watched my best friend bleed to death. He took three bullets to his chest, one to his neck. I saw the light leave his eyes, the pain on his face. He was _choking _on his own blood."

Now, I know I should be feeling sad and some major respect for this guy - he was a soldier. But, _man, _this sounds like a sob story.

"I was discharged because I started drinking. After I got home, I literally drank a liquor store. Maybe two. So, 'for my own well being', my little brother dropped me off here, to talk about my feelings."

"And what _are _your feelings?" Cow presses on, obviously pleased with how this was going.

Dean lets out a mirthless laugh. "I don't feel _anything _anymore."

I guess I can relate to that.

It's quiet for a little bit. But then there's a single clap from the front of the room, and the councilor continues to talk, happy that Dean put in his two cents.

The hour's up - it's finally time to leave. Thank _God._

I stand up, straighten out my leather jacket (previously my dad's), and make for the exit, far faster than any of the others here.

Except for one.

"I never did get your name, you know," Dean says in my ear, walking briskly next to me, our paces even.

"Wasn't important," I reply, indifferent.

"'Course it's important."

I turn my head, eyes meeting his. "No, it's not."

"Just tell me your name!"

I shake my head, opening the door and relishing the fresh autumn air. Lawrence, Kansas, is absolutely the most charming it can be in the fall. Leaves turned from green to orange, then to brown, falling off the trees and landing on the pavement, lending a pleasing crunch under one's feet as they walk. It's not too cold, not too hot - around fifty-ish in degrees. Really lovely.

"Are you going to stop following me soon?" I ask, staring straight ahead, slightly frustrated that I have to _walk _home.

"Yeah - when I get your name."

I stop then, and he does the same, hands in his pockets, an innocent look on his handsome face.

"Why do you even want to know?" I say, furrowing my eyebrows.

He shrugs. "I like you, I guess."

I stare blankly at him. "You don't know me."

"You don't know me, either."

"That's exactly why you don't know my name."

He chuckles. "Touche." We're silent for a bit. "I like your hair, by the way."

"_What_?"

"Your hair - it's pink, and I think it's very fitting for you."

"Um… thanks, I guess?"

He smiles. "You're welcome. I'm Dean, by the way."

"I know that."

"Yeah, but our introduction was kind of shitty. So…" He holds out his hand, an offer for a shake.

"You're not going to give up on this, are you?"

He shakes his head. I sigh, and take his hand. His grip is strong and firm, and it's a quick handshake. "Winnie," I tell him.

"Winnie… what?"

"Winnie's my name, just like you asked. That's good enough for now, I think."

He just laughs. "Well, Winnie, do you need a ride home?"

"Nope." I start off walking, hoping maybe he'll go the other direction, but… nope.

"I like walking," he tells me when I scowl at him. "Good thing I live this way, yeah?"

"_Totally_," I grumble under my breath. How can this guy still be around me? Are my repellent powers not working? Man, this is going to be a _long _walk home.

The more I look at him from the corner of my eye, the more I realize we're practically dressed the same. Dark jeans, combat boots, leather jackets and flannel shirts.

But, good God, he's hot.

I'm not saying I like him - I don't. He's annoying. But, _damn, _he has a nice face.

He catches me looking, and smirks knowingly. Then he winks.

Ugh.

I rummage through my pockets for my (nearly empty) pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "Mind if I smoke?" I ask, not really caring about his answer. He shakes his head, though, so I go right ahead.

"See, we're learning something new about each other every minute," he comments, making me roll my eyes.

"Dude," I say, keeping the poisonous killer between my teeth, "why do you even _bother _talking to me? I'm not the kind of person you want as a friend."

"How do you know what kind of friends I want?" he asks then, leaving me stumped. "Look, I know how you feel. Anti-social, like no one gets you… you know, the normal teenaged angst."

"I'm a grown-ass woman," I protest.

"And I'm a grown-ass man, but that doesn't mean our emotions don't go haywire."

"My emotions are just fine, thanks," I say, taking a long drag of smoke.

He chuckles and looks at me from the corner of his eyes. "You know, you're not dropping me yet. I'm going to try my damndest to get you to lighten up."

"Haven't they all?" I say.


	2. Chapter 2

2:

**Good golly, I love writing AUs! Thank you to **_**DeathBeyondFate , **_**the lovely guest user, and **_**harrylee94 **_**for the kind reviews - hope you enjoy this chapter as much as the other one!**

He walks all the way home with me.

Why? I don't know. I asked him to leave me alone a couple times, but he ignored me.

So, as we stand outside my brother's house, the situation grows increasingly more awkward. I smoked three cigarettes on the way here. He just tried to initiate small talk.

I _hate _small talk.

"So, um… I'll see you tomorrow, I guess," he says, rubbing his neck, flashing me a grin.

I roll my eyes. "Yep - you'll be graced with my glorious presence yet again."

"Your presence certainly _is _glorious, what with the pink hair and all."

I stare blankly at him. "I'm going to, you know, go inside now."

He nods. "Yeah, good idea." I turn to leave, and he says "Bye, Winnie."

I grunt in response, open the front door, and enter the sun-filled foyer. I look back for Dean, but he's not on the edge of the driveway anymore. He's walking the opposite way we came.

Oh my God, did he really walk all the way home with me when he lives the other way? Damn, I could have gotten rid of him sooner…

"Oy, shit-stick!" I call out, toeing out of my boots and leaving them on the shoe rack.

"Took you long enough to get back, jackass," my older brother yells from upstairs. I grin.

Henry looks just like me, and therefor is the complete personification of our father. His hair falls in curls, too, though his aren't as girly as mine. His eyes are brown, though, like Dad's - mine are green, like my grandmother's. He's a hell of a lot taller than me too - he's, what, 6'3"? But Henry and I have the same natural haircolor (dark brown), the same type of nose, eye shape, brow shape, hairline… you name it, we've got it. People mistook us for twins when we were younger.

But he's three years older than me, and about eight inches taller, so people don't suspect much like that anymore.

"So, who was that you walked home with?"

I sigh. "Just some really annoying guy I met at support group today. His name's Dean Winchester."

"He was a good lookin' guy… looks like your type."

"He wouldn't stop talking."

Henry comes down the stairs, looking amused. "Someone's actually _talking _to you?"

I snort. "Surprisingly. I even _asked _him to leave me alone."

My brother grins and walks into the kitchen, and offers to make me some tea. I accept the offer gladly.

He stands by sink, where the kettle is situated, and fills the kettle with filtered water (he's one of those freaks who's scared of dirty water. I like the filtered water because it tastes better, but I could care less about the chemicals in the water).

"So, how was it today?"

"Hell. That bitch Katie wouldn't stop talking."

"I pity you, sister dearest."

Waiting for the kettle to boil, we sit at the table and talk about our days. Henry woke up late, had to take a cab to work instead of walking (which he was rather angry about. Walking is his favorite thing), and he still had to go on a coffee run for his boss. I'd always thought working in a cubby would be easier. But I don't know much about what he does for a living, only that it pays well.

I talk to him about the walk to the community college (I saw a car wrap itself a telephone pole as I walked away), and how I almost fell down the stairs again. Her laughs at that. Then he asks about Dean. I shrug.

"Not much to tell, other than the fact that we wouldn't leave me alone. Really annoying, to be honest."

Henry just smiles and gets up to pour the tea. "Earl grey, right?"

"Mmhm."

"So, what else went on with that Dean character? Is he nice? Does he smoke?"

"He's nice enough I guess. He's an ex-soldier, was discharged a few months ago - something about a drinking problem. He's probably got PTSD, too," I say, smiling when the cup is set in front of me. I watch the steam dance in the air and move as I breathe, and my brother sits down, urging me to keep talking about Dean. "I have nothing more to say," I tell him, because I _really _don't remember anything that Dean said to me on the walk here, since I wasn't paying attention.

Henry nods. "I need to go grocery shopping, by the way. Can I trust you here by yourself?"

"'Course you can. What am I gonna do, stab myself with a pen?"

My brother considers that, and I realize I made a mistake in saying that. "On second thought, maybe you should come with me…"

"Henry, I was _joking. _If it makes you feel better, I'll go sit in my room or something. Or I can go for a walk. Though I'd rather stay in here."

"Please, Win, come with me. I'd feel a lot more comfortable if you came with me." He takes a long sip of his tea, eyeing me cautiously. "Besides, I could use help carrying bags."

I snort. "You're a big macho man, aren't you?"

"I'll get bacon…"

"We _have _bacon."

He smiles, tilting his head a little. "No, Win, I'll get _the _bacon."

I gasp. "The fifty-three dollar and seventy-five cents cured and smoked maple bacon from the butchers?"

With a nod from Henry, I rise from my chair, down the rest of my cup, and make my way to the door, slipping on my cherry red Doc's. "What're we waiting for, then?"

God, the things I won't do for bacon…

It's busy at the local grocery store - more so than usual. Probably because Halloween's just 'round the corner. Toddlers and elementary school kids are running around their mums' ankles, begging them to 'buy this' and 'get me that'. They pick at the sequins and little doo-dads on the princess dresses, try to play with the toy swords that come with the Power Rangers costumes, and it's ridiculously cute. I miss being that age - so happy and carefree and unaware of how much of a shit hole the world truly is. I didn't really hate myself, then.

Henry pushes the shopping cart, leaning on the handle and walking slowly, weaving between the crowd with ease. I keep a steady gait behind him, hands shoved into my dad's old leather jacket. Man, I could really do with a smoke right now…

I can't hear the buzz of the crowd over my headphones, so that's good.

_Dazed and Confused _ends, and the shuffle setting on my iPhone brings me to a band called _Elbow. _I found out about them yesterday and fell in love with their song called _'Lippy Kids'. _I smile as it plays, and walk along, following Henry to the produce aisle. He picks up a bag of carrots (organic, yum) and sets it in the cart. He wordlessly points towards a bag of celery that I'm standing next to, so I grab it and hand it to him. He grins in thanks. I pay no attention as he piles a shit tonne of other veggies into the cart – I only want the bacon. Well, bacon, and possibly a six-pack, if Henry's up to it. He's not much a fan of beer.

I trail behind still as he continues to drop things into the cart, including a large block of cheddar cheese from Wisconsin.

Finally, _fi-na-lly, _we make it to the butcher's part of the store. His name is Jimmy McMullen, and he loves me (probably because I buy his most expensive bacon).

"Hey, McCoys!" he says, his big belly wobbling on his walk to the counter. His large, white walrus mustache quivers as he speaks and curves upwards when he smiles.

I grin back at Jimmy. "Hiya!"

"What can I do for ya, kids?" he asks, hands on his hips, belly protruding outward. "Need any steak? Ground chicken?"

I shake my head. "No, sir - see, my brother and I, we have been on a rather perilous journey from our kingdom of Henry's House to your humble butcher's shop, and all for the crowning glory in our midst."

He gives me a look of amusement and slight confusion, one I've seen many a time before, so I point to the bacon. "Three pounds of the finest of all masterpieces here in Lawrence, my good sir," I state in a false British accent.

Jimmy laughs, his belly shaking. "You and your theatrics," he says, taking the bacon out of the cooler thingy and doing the whole meat measuring routine. "I always did say ya'd be good in a show."

_..._

"_Know what I think?" Jim said to me while portioning some steaks._

"_What?"_

"_I think ya should've gone into actin'. I know your da doesn't like the idea, but I think ya'd be great up on a stage."_

_I shook my head. "Nah - I'll stick to playing gigs at the locals - I'm better with lyrics than I am with scripts." _

_Jimmy just smiles, glancing up at me through his bushy eyebrows. "I guess ya are."_

…

I turn to my brother as Jimmy takes care of the bacon, wrapping it up quickly and skillfully. "Henry Jackson McCoy," I tell him, "You are a kind, kind soul. I will relieve you of bacon cooking duty tonight."

"Thanks, Win," he says, shaking his head. "You're a dork."

"Says you," I reply.

My brother just rolls his eyes. "Go on, grab some candy for the children - I'll meet you at the check-out. I need to pay for this."

I nod, take my iPhone out again, and plug in my earbuds. I don't really pay much attention to what's playing, and I just shove my hands in my pockets, weaving in and out around the people, keeping my head down. I yawn, covering my mouth as I walk briskly. I know there's a big table at the front of the store with a shit tonne of Halloween candy on it, so I make my way over there.

God, it's _sweltering _in here. Who the hell dictates the heat? I keep my jacket on, though. I don't like taking it off in public.

I pass a little boy who's screaming at his mother, pounding at her legs with his tiny fists, pointing at a little stuffed zebra on a toy shelf. The mom, who seems pretty young, looks flustered and is red in the face, looking around desperately. I keep moving, staying away from the situation.

Finally, I reach the table. A huge box of licorice for four bucks, and a box of Maynard's assorted treats for three-fifty. Then there's huge bags filled with those little caramel squares, other bags with those shitty-ass burger shaped candies (an abomination - actual burgers are _so _much better). I contemplate which ones we should get.

I like licorice better than all those there, but I'd actually eat them while handing candy out, so maybe that's not the best idea… the Maynard's has Sour Patch Kids, and I'd probably eat those too…

I'll get those.

I gather the boxes, turn, and promptly bump into someone.

Smooth, Winnie. _Smooth._

I drop the boxes, slightly flustered now, and tug the buds out of my ears so I can apologize properly, but instead, I curse.

"Nice to see you, too," he says, smirking. "How ya doin', Winnie?"

"Oh, son of a bitch," I grumble, crouching to grab the candy. "What're you doing here?"

"Same as you," Dean replies, looking at me with innocent eyes. "Getting candy for the little monsters."

"Any particular reason you needed to stand right behind me?" I snap, scowling.

He shrugs. "Thought I'd spook you a bit."

"Well, all you did was ruin my fairly decent mood. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be finding my brother now. Leave me alone."

"Aw, c'mon, I was just havin' a bit of fun. I'm sorry."

I walk away, keeping my eyes straight ahead, intent on ignoring him.

"Hey, Winnie?"

The son of a bitch is following me again. _Great. _I turn around to face him, making him stop in his tracks and almost crash into me. "Why can't you leave me alone?"

He laughs. "Awe, and I thought we had a real connection earlier today."

"Are you some creep or something? Why the hell do you keep following me?" I hiss, keeping my voice low.

Dean shrugs, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking a little sheepish. "Well, because I genuinely do like you."

I roll my eyes. "You don't _know _me, idiot! Jesus fuck, one would think you knew that! We met like two _hours _ago."

"I'm good at reading people."

"Well then, read this - fuck off!" I turn to leave him behind, but he grabs my shoulder, and his grip is strong.

"Look, I'm sorry I'm annoying you. I just needed to ask you something."

"What?" I spit, glaring up at him.

"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my house for dinner tonight," he says bluntly, looking entirely serious.

I furrow my brows. "_What?_"

"Please? I - my brother thinks I'm a loser with no life or ambition since I got outta Afghanistan, and I kinda wanna prove him wrong."

"And how would taking _me, _a girl you don't even _know, _help you there?"

"That's actually a, uh, funny story. See, I kind of told my brother about you and I being - erm - friends, and he, uh… Well, he wants to make sure I'm not lying or anything, so I said you'd come."

"So you stalked me to the goddamn _Super Market_?"

He shakes his head. "No, no! This was purely by coincidence, I swear it by my Impala."

I laugh. "Well, have fun explaining to your brother that you lied, hot shot."

"Oh, come _on! _Please? I'll pay you, if you want…"

"Pay her to do _what, _exactly?"

Oh, thank GOD! Henry, to the rescue!

Dean's face turns a deep shade of red. "Well, uh, I was asking her to attend a party with me, and… Hi, I'm Dean."

Henry's eyebrows shoot up, and he looks at me with wide eyes and a meaningful look on his face. "Hi, Dean, I'm Winnie's brother, Henry," he says, not even looking at the shorter man. My brother's eyes are on me. "What's this about a party?"

"Well, my mother is throwing a little house party, and I was allowed to bring a guest -"

"Who, unfortunately, has plans for the night and, therefore, cannot attend. _Right, _Henry?" I say, emphasising the 'right' to try to get him to play along with my new plan.

"Actually, those plans were cancelled. Yeah, I was just about to tell you that. So, yes, Dean, she'd be glad to go with you." A small smirk dances on his lips.

I send my brother a glare that says, _You have betrayed me beyond words. _He shrugs.

Dean smiles. "Cool. I'll pick her up, then. Six-thirty sound good?"

"More than enough time for her to get ready," Henry replies. "Formal or casual?"

"Pretty casual, but not a 'jeans and a Zeppelin tee' kinda party," Dean says, eyeing my clothing. He smiles again.

"Do I have _any _say in this?" I ask, weighing the candy in my arms.

"Nope," comes a simple reply from my older brother. "You need the address?" he asks Dean then.

"I've got a good idea of the location. I walked your sister home earlier."

"More like stalked," I say, pouting. Henry elbows my side, and I wince.

Dean nods, and the men shake hands. "Nice meeting you, Henry. See you at six-thirty," he says, directing the last bit to me. I glare, making him chuckle. He walks away, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

"HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME!?" I exclaim, shoving the candy into Henry's arms. "That was SO not cool!"

"You need to get out more," he replies, placing the boxes in the cart. "Come on, let's go pay."

**Yay! Another chapter done! **

**Chapter 3: Party time! Alas, poor Winnie.**


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